


Precocious

by orionreece



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU-Beau gets hit by Tylers van, Cullens - Freeform, Gay, M/M, Twilight AU, Vampires, edwardcullen - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-08-13 07:44:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionreece/pseuds/orionreece
Summary: What would have happened if Tyler's van had hit Beau? If Edward and his family had stayed home that day, to discuss the implications of Beau Swan. Carlisle Cullen was working when a nearly dead Beau Swan arrived in the ER. He was a lost cause. So when Carlisle declared him dead, no one questioned it. And so Carlisle turned Beau.





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> The first couple chapters do not belong to me. Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and the creation of the Twilight universe. This prompt was inspired by @ goldenrosalie on tumblr!

**Preface**

_ I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. I stared without breathing across the parking lot, at the friends I never got a chance to know. This wasn’t how I wanted to die, leaving behind everyone I loved so suddenly. I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end. The van screeched forward to kill me.  _

**Chapter 1- First Sight**

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, a grey muscle tank top; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this small town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother ran with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been happy to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year Renee finally put her foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. 

It was to Forks that I now sent myself— an action that I took with great satisfaction. I loved Forks, or rather, I loved my Dad.. I also loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Beau," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with longer hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I said, the truth showing in my sincere voice. 

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. "Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom." She hugged me tightly for a minute, her head tucked under my chin, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with my Dad, Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Dad had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car. Neither of us were what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. But the comfortable silence we usually sat in was nice, a different change than my chatty mother.

I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — my mother had never hid the fact that she had never wanted me to come to Forks, where she made a huge mistake in her life.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Dad was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop. 

Dad gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane. "It's good to see you, Beau," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. 

"You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad."

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scarce. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car." But it wasn’t unwelcome. Even I knew how bad of a klutz I was.

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy." That piqued my interest.

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast. But my memory isn’t the best.

"No." My tone urged him to continue.

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted. 

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap." 

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. 

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really." I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. 

"When did he buy it?" 

"He bought it in 1984, I think." 

"Did he buy it new?" 

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Beau, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least. 

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on. 

"Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression. Wow. Free.A rush of affection and gratitude bloomed in my chest as my mouth quirked up in a smile. 

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car." But he heard the thankfulness in my voice.

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded, smile still on my lips. 

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks. 

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was almost too green — an alien planet. 

Eventually we made it to Dad’s. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. 

It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. Not really surprised, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. 

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. 

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. 

The desk now held a second hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. 

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. One of the best things about Dad is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. 

It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain. I was dreading going to school. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. 

All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new guy from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a guy from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond — a football player, or basketball perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine.

I had always been slender, but with sort of built, wiry muscles somehow, although obviously I was not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. 

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it was very clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. I had no color here. 

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. 

Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. 

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. 

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning. You could never see the sky here; I didn’t mind it much. Breakfast with Dad was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. 

Dad left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. 

My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. 

First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here. 

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. 

The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. 

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Dad had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. 

The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. 

The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors? 

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. 

I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. 

The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed. The red-haired woman looked up. 

"Can I help you?" 

"I'm Beauregard Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. 

"Of course," she said. 

She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for.

"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe. 

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. 

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. 

Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. 

I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. 

I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I kept mine on, even though it was damp. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. 

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. 

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on. 

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with acne and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Beauregard Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. 

"Beau," I corrected. 

Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. 

"Where's your next class?" he asked. I had to check in my bag. 

"Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six." 

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. 

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. 

"I'm Eric," he added. I smiled tentatively. 

"Thanks." 

Eric retrieved his jacket and we headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid. 

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked. 

"Very." 

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?" 

"Three or four times a year." 

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered. 

"Sunny," I told him. 

"You don't look very tan." I surprised my crying of embarrassment and tried to make a joke. 

"My mother is part albino." 

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. 

"Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. 

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside. The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. 

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map. 

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. 

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. 

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. 

There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. 

But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention. They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. Something about him set my teeth on edge. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. 

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. And yet, they were all exactly alike.

Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular. 

But all this is not why I couldn't look away. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. 

It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy. They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. 

As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging. 

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten. As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once.

In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. 

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath. 

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them. 

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I was named Beauregard, and I originated in this town. I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home. 

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement. 

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. 

"They're all together though — Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip. 

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…" 

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins — the blondes — and they're foster children." 

"They look a little old for foster children." 

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that." 

"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything." 

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. 

"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness. I felt a flash of dislike flow through me at her words, but let it go. Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. 

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. 

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. 

"They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska." 

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. 

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. 

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. 

“Maybe he likes boys.” I suggested, almost timidly. The look Jessica shot me was disbelief, and she didn’t say more. 

I wondered when he'd turned her down. I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. 

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. 

When we entered the classroom, Angela smiled at me and went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. 

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black. 

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me. 

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my shoulder. I smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I slouched down in my chair and tried to pay attention to the teacher. 

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes in my usual scribble chicken scratch anyway, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to me. 

During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother. 

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? Or for him to lunge at me? He never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? 

I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought. It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Adam. I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. 

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I'd thought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. 

I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Beauregard Swan?" a male voice asked. 

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad. "Beau," I corrected her, with a smile. 

"I'm McKayla." 

"Hi, McKayla." 

"Do you need any help finding your next class?" 

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it." 

"That's my next class, too." She seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; she was a chatterer — she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She'd lived in California until she was ten, so she knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out she was in my English class. 

She was the nicest person I'd met today. But as we were entering the gym, she asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb. 

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly. 

"Yes," she said. "He looked like he was in pain or something." 

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him." 

"He's a weird guy." McKayla lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. 

"If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you." 

I smiled at her before walking through the boys' locker room door. She was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. 

Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated. The final bell rang at last. 

I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. 

I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time — any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. 

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. 

For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist. 

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." 

A nd he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip. 

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally. 

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. 

She didn't look convinced. When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse. It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. McKayla came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at her all the while; that was nattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. 

I sat with a big group at lunch that included McKayla, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it. 

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator. 

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them. McKayla intercepted us and steered us to her table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. 

But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false. He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense. 

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. McKayla, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. 

I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. McKayla followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about McKayla, and it wouldn't be easy. 

In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly girls. I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. 

It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true. When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. 

I hurried from the boys' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed. 

Last night I'd discovered that Dad couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway. 

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear splitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. 

Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins.

With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here. 

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty. They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds. 

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. 

The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was. When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge. 

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages. 

"Beau," my mom wrote… 

“Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.”

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first. "Beau," she wrote… 

“Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.”

The last was from this morning. Beauregard, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.”

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun. 

“Mom, Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash. Beau.” I sent that, and began again. 

“Mom, Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch. Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday. Dad bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. Beau.”

I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Dad came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil. 

"Beau?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs. Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home." 

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose. 

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily.

My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back. 

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved. He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table. I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room. 

"Smells good, Beau."

"Thanks." We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together. 

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds. 

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this other girl, McKayla, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception. 

"That must be McKayla Newton. Nice kid — nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here." After another pause of eating I spoke.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly. 

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man." 

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school." Charlie surprised me by looking angry. 

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. 

"We're lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk." It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying. I backpedaled. 

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary. 

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around." 

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making. 

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted. The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way. 

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school. Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry. 

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. 

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. 

I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well. 

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, McKayla took her accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. 

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here. When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose. 

"Wow," McKayla said. "It's snowing." I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face. 

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day. She looked surprised. 

"Don't you like snow?" 

"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. 

"Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips." 

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously. 

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV." 

McKayla laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the wrong direction for his next class. 

McKayla apparently had the same notion. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. 

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside." She just nodded, her eyes on Eric's retreating figure. 

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks. 

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself. 

McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in her hair. Her and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table. Jessica pulled on my arm. 

"Hello? Beau? What do you want?" I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong. 

"What's with Beau?" McKayla asked Jessica. 

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line. 

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked. 

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet. I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. 

I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was. I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. 

None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little. They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. 

They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. 

I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change. 

"Beau, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare. 

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine. I dropped my head, letting my hood of my jacket conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way. 

"Edward Cullen is looking at you," Jessica giggled in my ear. She was the only one who had gotten the hint that I was bisexual. 

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help but ask. 

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?" 

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm. 

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you." 

"Stop looking at him," I hissed. She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted. McKayla interrupted us then — she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at McKayla left little doubt that she would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. 

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again. I didn't really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual — she seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. 

It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym. McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four. Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. 

Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook. I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing. 

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice. I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful. 

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan." My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say. 

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered. He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. 

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive." I grimaced. I knew it was something like that. 

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?" He seemed confused. 

"Do you prefer Beauregard?" 

"No, I like Beau," I said. "But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must call me Beauregard behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron. 

"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly. 

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right. 

"Get started," he commanded. 

"You first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot. 

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent. 

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead." I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. 

I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly. My assessment was confident. 

"Prophase." 

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had. 

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily. 

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. I kept my voice indifferent. 

"May I?" He smirked and pushed the microscope to me. I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Damn it, he was right. 

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him. He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage. 

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl. We were finished before anyone else was close. 

I could see McKayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face. 

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. 

"No." 

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes." He shrugged, and looked away. 

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me — the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. 

I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word. I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again. 

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers. "So, Edward, didn't you think Beauregard should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked. 

"Beau," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five." Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical. 

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked. I smiled sheepishly. 

"Not with onion root." 

"Whitefish blastula?" 

"Yeah." Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?" 

"Yes." 

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again. 

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. 

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate. 

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question. 

"Or the wet." 

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused. 

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly. He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded. 

"Why did you come here, then?" No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding. 

"It's… complicated." 

"I think I can keep up," he pressed. I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking. 

"My mother got remarried," I said. 

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. 

"When did that happen?" 

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me. 

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind. 

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough." 

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important. 

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response. I snorted, my mouth lifting into an amused smile. 

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot." 

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question. My chin raised a fraction. 

"No, she did not send me here. I sent myself." His eyebrows knit together. 

"I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact. I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity. 

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished. 

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out. 

"Not immensely. And if I am, so what?" I challenged. 

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense. I laughed without humor. 

"Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair." 

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way. His gaze became appraising. 

"You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away. 

"Am I wrong?" I tried to ignore him. 

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly. 

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds. 

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. I sighed, scowling at the blackboard. 

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused. I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. 

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned. 

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it. 

"You must be a good reader then," I replied. 

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth. It was more teeth than most smiles and for the second time involving the Cullen family, it set my teeth on edge.

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension. 

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable. When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement. 

McKayla skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined her with a wagging tail. 

"That was awful," she groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner." 

"I didn't really have any trouble with it," I said, stung by her assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. 

"I've done the lab before, though," I added before she could get her feelings hurt. 

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," she commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn't seem pleased about it. I tried to sound indifferent. 

"I wonder what was with him last Monday." I couldn't concentrate on McKayla’s chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE. didn't do much to hold my attention, either. McKayla was on my team today. She chivalrously covered my position as well as her own, so my wool gathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up. 

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home. I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure.

Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. 

I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.


	3. Changed

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different. It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer and brighter somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window. I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror. 

Despite the light, a fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now. 

Dad had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Dad was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. 

I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid. I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? 

I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today. 

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish. Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about McKayla and Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenagers responded to me here.

I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that everyone back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. 

Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason,McKayla's puppy dog behavior and Eric's apparent rivalry with her were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored. 

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street. When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. 

Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. 

Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise. I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled. I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. 

Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once. A sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. 

But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

It collided with me hard, but it didn’t quite knock me out. Pain bloomed all over my body as I was pinned between the two cars, and my trucks window shattered with the force of my head colliding into the glass.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear screaming. It was odd. It sounded so close, but it was also coming from far away.

Oh. It was me. My screaming choked off with a gurgle as blood expelled itself from my esophagus. What felt like seconds must have been minutes because before I knew it, I was being loaded into an ambulance. The noise wouldn’t stop. 

It swirled around in the air, confining me and making my battered head pound even more. There was an odd moaning sound coming from my throat. I was trying to talk, until a paramedic leaned over my face. Her face was grim. 

“Hey, don’t say anything. You don’t have to talk. Beau, is it?” I weakly nodded my head, and that sent stabs of pain down my spine. 

“Beau you need to hang on buddy. Your dad is going to meet us at the hospital, okay?” But I couldn’t move anymore. My vision was filling with black spots. The pain was fading though, causing me to smile faintly. 

“Tell Charlie...it’s okay. I love him.” The voice that croaked out didn’t sound like my own. But it was saying what I was thinking, so it must be me. Tears mixing with blood ran down my face as a mask was placed over my mouth.

Again time passed quickly. Or maybe I was blacking out. We arrived at the hospital and I got a glimpse of pale skin and gold eyes as I was wheeled inside. They put an IV in my wrist and I felt instant relief. The pain wasn’t gone, not at all. But it was dulled. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew I wasn’t going to make it out of this. 

They set me up in the ICU. I think they thought I was unconscious. Well, my eyes were closed. I didn’t have the strength to open them. I heard frantic whispers outside my door.

“He isn’t going to make it. He’s a lost cause, Carlisle, you know it. His heart was pierced by metal, his liver was ruptured for christ’s sake. His spine is broken and he has definite brain damage.” The whispers faded away as I blacked out again. This time when I became aware again, someone was talking.

“Chief Swan, I’m sorry. All we can do is make him comfortable. Have a nurse page me if you need me.” The voice was smooth, like honey and filled with sincerity. Charlie’s voice came next. I was aware of his hand in my hand, the warmth bleeding into me. 

I couldn’t focus on his voice anymore. It was almost nonsensical. Just the mumblings of a grieving man. I noticed that they didn’t even hook me up to a heart monitor. 

My mind was in and out, fading in and out. The next thing I knew, I heard a voice say something that made my heart stutter. 

“He’s gone. Time of death, 8:56am. Someone inform Charlie.” Then the voice was much closer, whispering into my ear.

“If you want to live, 

I’m going to need you to hold your breath when Charlie comes in. Please.” His voice was filled with pain, empathy for me. I blew out a gust of air to let him know that I understood. He sighed in what I thought was relief and I heard pounding footsteps rush into the room. 

“Beau? Beauregard?” His voice broke, and I could hear his sobs. His pain almost made me cry myself, but I remembered what the man had told me. After a moment of crying, Charlie was lead out as Carlisle had to “prep my body”. I was gently covered with a sheet and wheeled down multiple hallways. 

The pain was dizzying. I couldn’t hold back my near silent sobs, causing me to gasp for breath underneath the thin white sheet. The man gently laid a hand on my forehead, as if to comfort me. His hand was ice cold, and almost soothing to my burning face. Soon enough, we stopped, and the man gently lifted me from the gurney. 

He was beautiful. His face was deathly pale, like Edward’s. His golden eyes filled with kindness also matched Edward. Realization struggled to surface in my foggy mind.

“Dr. Cullen?” My voice made me wince. It was raspy, and it sounded small. Like a childs’.

“Yes. Beauregard, do you want to be saved?” It was a simple question, but I heard the meaning. This had to do with the strangeness of the Cullen family. Edward flashed through my mind and I nodded, too exhausted to open my mouth again. Dr. Cullen looked around him and I realized we were near a fire exit. 

My eyes slid shut again against my will, strength ebbing out of me. I heard the door open and shut quietly, and suddenly we were moving. It felt like we were flying. But when I opened my eyes, we were still ground level. But moving at an impossible speed. Motion sickness surged in my battered stomach, and I let out a pitiful groan and hid my face in the concrete that was Dr. Cullen’s chest. 

It was cold. It felt like I was covered in ice, and the wind blowing on me didn’t help. My body started trembling, shaking, in it’s pathetic attempt to try to warm me up. But Dr. Cullen’s hard arms around me were ice, the cold bleeding into my body impossibly fast. Or maybe it was the blood loss. 

As suddenly as it started, we stopped, and we were inside somewhere. The warmth of being inside caused me to shudder, and I moaned in pain. There was a jostle of activity around me. Velvet voices swirled around me. I caught some of what was being said.

“I’m so sorry Edward, I didn't  _ see. _ ” Alice’s distressed voice cried. 

“Edward, Beau chose this. Beauregard told me he wanted to live.” Dr. Cullen’s stern voice stated, as I was placed on another bed. Edward’s named stirred the rest of the life in me. 

“E-Edward..?” My voice asked, causing the room to fall silent. My eyes fluttered open again, searching the bright room for him. He was by my side immediately, his cold hand folding around mine. 

“Edward I have to do this now.” Dr. Cullen said, moving to my other side. My eyes were trained on Edward’s pained face when the doctor leaned down and sunk his teeth into my wrist. My eyes that were once being weighed down flew open as I let out a pained sound. This pain broke through all the other pain. This pain was fire. 

My fingers curled around Edward’s as I thrashed away from Dr. Cullen. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get  _ away. _

“Emmett, hold him still please.” Came the regretful voice of the doctor. More cold hands were placed on me, this time on my shoulders. 

“Sorry buddy.” Emmett apologized, and I whimpered as teeth sunk into my other wrist, and then on both sides of my neck. It was like I was injected with pure pain. 

Time stretched after that. What felt like hours were mere minutes. Edward’s cold soft hand stayed in mine the entire time. Others came and went, but I couldn’t focus on them or what they were saying. My time was spent writhing in pain with tears making streaks through the blood on my face. Sometime later, someone brushed my hair away from my face and spoke softly in my ear.

“Beau, I’m going to clean you up, wipe the blood away and change your clothes. Is that okay?” It was Alice. Sweet, dainty, lovable Alice. Affection filled my chest and I managed to croak out a confirmation before a cool wet rag was gently wiping at my face. I almost cried at the relief, and leaned into her touch. 

That’s when Edward started talking. He whispered in my ear, like Alice had done. His soft voice spun tales of the supernatural. Everything he said made sense, but even as venom burned through my veins, it didn’t seem real. It was almost like a dream. Except my mind couldn't create something as beautiful as Edward. 

Slowly, as Alice made me look human again, the burning started to recede from my fingertips. It took several hours once more for me to notice another change. I could squeeze Edward’s hand in my own. And as he softly kissed my hand, a tear trailed down my face. It would be my last. 

I just wanted it to end. Even if it meant dying, I just wanted to escape this pain. It was worse than any pain I’ve ever felt. I think Edward knew this too, because he kept up a constant stream of talking. For awhile I couldn’t focus on the words, just on his soothing voice. His thumb would trace circles on my hand, the coolness relieving some of the burn. 

Slowly I could listen to Edward’s voice and focus on the pain at the same time. He was murmuring apologies. Over and over he would apologize. It made my heart ache. Was he apologizing for the accident? Or the burn? Either way I didn’t blame him. 

All at once everything changed. The fire receded completely from my limbs, before settling in the middle of my chest, my heart. Amazingly, I could hear it beating. It was racing, trying to fight the fire, but it was losing. It’s beats were uneven, stuttering. I heard the others enter the room, and Alice’s dainty footsteps moved close to my side, near Edward. 

“Not long now. 20 seconds.” She said. Her voice was like a song. A perfect melody I could listen to all day. My toes curled and I clenched my fists, but he still held my hand. I wanted to claw at my chest but as soon as that thought flitted through my head, Alice placed her hand in my other one. Effectively discouraging the motion. Faster and faster my heart raced, and the fire raged in my heart. This was the last piece of me that still felt like me. Everything else felt odd. There was a strangeness in my limbs, my skin my bones. 

Then, my heart stopped. Air flooded into my lungs as I gasped and then frowned at the sensation. Breathing felt weird. They were waiting, a stillness in the air confirmed that. I was afraid. I didn’t want to open my eyes. 

“Beau, it’s alright. Just open your eyes, love.” The pet name coming from Edward’s lips startled me enough that I listened. The first thing that I saw was dust. It was floating above me, slowly and softly, like a dance. Distracted, the sound of someone clearing their throat spooked me and within seconds I was on the other side of the bed, crouching, my lips curled around my teeth. A low rumble came from my chest. 

“Beau.” Edward said, and my eyes left the six other people in the room to lock onto his honey eyes. “Beau, it’s okay. No one here is going to hurt you.” His tone of voice made me frown in confusion. He was talking to me like a wild animal. I straightened suddenly, realizing what I was doing. 

“I-” The single syllable leaving my lips once again startled me. It was my voice, but it was different. Smoother, and as velvety as Edwards’. My confused eyes looked over the room again, and I noticed that Emmett was in front of the door. The only exit. Alarms were ringing in my head, and then Jasper moved. 

Once again I was crouching, now several feet back in the corner of the room, this time a hiss left my mouth. Jasper was covered in scars. Bite marks. That sent chills of danger down my spine and the hiss was reflexive. Edward stood up slowly and my eyes flashed to him. 

Without saying anything he slowly approached me. His eyes were concerned, but they held steady. I shifted as he drew closer, unease filling my body. But at the same time, all I wanted to do was throw myself at him, his arms wrapping around me. The conflicting emotions caused me to do nothing. 

Then he was there, crouching to my level. My body slowly relaxed as he took my hand again. The familiar action comforting me. 

“Edward…” I whispered, my voice filled with so many questions. 

“It’s alright Beau. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” He tried to assure me, but that tingling of alarm wouldn’t leave. I slowly lowered myself from the crouch, finally sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around my knees. All the while my eyes stayed on Edward’s face. 

“What-?” I cleared my throat, still not used to my changed voice. 

“What are you…” I paused, then continued. “What am I?” Edward’s face fell. He didn’t want to explain to me, for some reason. It irritated me. It was like he was still trying to protect me from himself. Dr. Cullen stepped forward. 

“Beau, this is going to be hard to hear.” He started, and a sarcastic laugh left my lips.

“I’m sure I can take it. I kinda died, didn’t I?” I shot back, frowning. 

“Yes. You were going to die. But instead, you were turned. Have you noticed anything strange about our family?” He asks, and I nodded hesitantly. 

“You don’t look human. Jasper always looked like he was in pain. Edward...he always looked up when people were talking to him. As if he’d heard them from across the room. And your eyes, they kept changing colors. From honey gold to pitch black.” I listed, and Edward looked somewhat proud. 

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Carlisle began. “ We’ve been known by many names. Shtriga, dhampir, strigoi, moroi and, draugur.” I recognized one of them and my stomac h dropped as dread filled my body. I knew what he was going to say next. 

“Vampire.” I let my eyes close as I drew in a deep breath. It still felt weird. In and out. Inhale and exhale. I heard Edward move forward and place a hand on my cheek, encouraging me to open my eyes. When I did, he gently stroked my cheek. 

“You need to hunt Beau. I’m surprised you haven’t tried already.” I pulled back, confused. Jasper shuffled again in the corner uncomfortable. 

“Carlisle, I don’t feel any thirst coming from Beau.” But the second he said it I realized how dry it was. My throat flared and I swiftly brought my hands to my neck. Jasper seemed to relax again. 

“We need blood to survive, Beau. Don’t worry, we feed from animals.” Edward said, and I swallowed. 

“How do I hunt?” The question was filled with hesitation. 

“I’ll teach you. Come on,” Edward held his hand out to me as he stood up. Even though I could get up myself, I appreciated the gesture and gripped his hand as I stood up. Usually, sitting in that position would make me uncomfortable, but I felt fine. Great, even. I took another deep breath as I scanned the faces around me. 

“Okay, let’s hunt.” The corners of my mouth lifted in a timid smile, which received relieved smiles throughou t the room. Maybe being a vampire wasn’t as terrible as the legends said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter is much much shorter than the last 2, I've been busy doing school stuff. Senior registration ya know?


	4. Chapter 4

Edward led me through his house, which was gorgeous, might I add, to the yard. The scents of the forest swirled around me, almost overwhelming. Edward stayed silent, just letting me grip his hand in my own. While we walked, I noticed my clothes. I was wearing a pair of sweatpants, cinched at the waist. A plain white t-shirt sat on my chest. The scent coming from Edward also came from the shirt. His scent almost made me dizzy. All I wanted to do was curl up with him and nuzzle my face in his neck. 

“Okay Beau,” Edward murmured, when we were deep in the forest. “Close your eyes, okay?” I immediately complied, unease fluttering in my chest. “What do you smell? What do you hear?” Edward’s instructions confused me, but nonetheless I took a deep breath.

“I think I smell...water? I hear a river.” I timidly said, not wanting to be wrong. Edward’s thumb ran across my knuckles. 

“What else? Beyond that.” He guided me. I picked out the beating of hearts, then. Multiple thumping, as they drank water. I inhaled again, and finally picked up their scent. It set off my throat, the fire ablaze again. It didn’t smell bad, really. Just odd. I wrinkled my nose. 

“You’ll get used to it.” Edward laughed. “It’s elk.” 

One more whiff of them, and I took off, following my instincts. I got distracted at once, by the speed I was going. A joyous laugh bubbled up, and the wind ripped it from my mouth. Breathing in again, I caught another scent. This one set my entire body on fire, and I immediately switched direction. This smelt a million times better than the elk. It made my thinking cease and my instincts take over entirely. 

I heard footsteps behind me. Whirling around. I snarled, eyes narrowed on the intruder. 

“Beau.” Edward said, hands up in a peaceful gesture. The wind changed, and I straightened, hand over my mouth in horror. I turned to see what I had been chasing. A man who was hiking. I almost killed him. A choked sob left my lips, and I darted off in the opposite direction, running as fast as I could. After a moment I could hear Edward following me, but from a greater distance. I didn’t blame him. Finally, I stopped. 

I was in a perfectly round meadow. I slowly sank down, sitting criss cross in the soft grass. I wasn’t even out of breath. I inspected the details of the flowers as I waited for Edward. He slowed down as he approached me.

“Beau?” He said, as he stepped into the meadow. Shame flooded my chest, and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want him to look at me. 

“M’sorry…” I mumbled, feeling tears gather in my eyes. They didn’t fall. Immediately, Edward was kneeling in front of me. I kept my eyes closed. He gently placed a hand on my cheek, his thumb smoothing away my frown.

“Beau..” The gentleness of the way he said my name made a sob escaped my throat. He gathered me in his arms as I wailed, dry sobs ripping through my chest. He murmured assurances to me as I cried.

“It's okay, love. There’s nothing to be sorry about, okay? This was all perfectly natural. You’re a newborn, you don’t have control over yourself.” His voice soothed me as I collected myself, my cheek still pressed against his chest. I should find this weird. Not even a week ago, I thought Edward hated me. But something drew me to him. It was intensified now more than ever. I took a steadying breath and pulled myself away, embarrassed. 

“Let’s try this again, okay?” Edward said, getting to his feet, helping me up in the process. Hesitantly, I nodded and closed my eyes. I sought out the sound of the elk’s heartbeats, finding them in seconds. Once again, I took off. I didn’t breath, I just focused on the sound of their hearts. This time, I arrived at my destination. 

On instinct, I crouched, fighting the urge to growl. There were 5 of them. Two bucks, and three females. I set my sights on the biggest of the two bucks. Then, I sprung. My movements startled the rest of the herd, but I was focused on this one’s throat. My teeth sliced through the skin and fur like it was nothing. I almost wept as it’s blood flowed down my dry throat. Too soon, I had drained it. Irritated, I pushed it away, and took off after the running herd. 

I took down a female this time, and drained her even faster. I heard Edward as he took down one as well. Edward let me take the other two, and after, my throat was still dry, but it wasn’t unbearable. I was drenched in blood. Scrunching my nose up, I looked at myself, then at Edward. He was smiling at me. He had no sign of blood on him. 

“You’ll get the hang of it.” He promised. “ Are you still thirsty?” At my exasperated nod, he led me towards another heart beat. It was a mountain lion. My limbs acted on their own again and I tumbled into the lion in a split second. It screeched out a snarl, and I copied it, my snarl louder. We tumbled on the ground for a minute, it’s claws shredding the white shirt I had been wearing, before I sank my teeth into its neck.

The blood that flowed into my mouth tasted a hundred times better than the elk, and quenched my thirst. My stomach was almost uncomfortably full of liquid. I pushed the corpse of the lion away and stood up, looking for Edward. He was staring at me, a few yards away. I looked down and understood why. The lion had destroyed my shirt. It was hanging on only by a few tatters, so I just tore it off. It was useless now. I sheepishly looked up.

“Sorry about the shirt.” I apologized, causing Edward to laugh out loud. 

“Oh don’t apologize. You look much better without it.” If I had been human, my cheeks would be burning. I rolled my eyes, but I knew Edward sensed my embarrassment.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting for us.” He said, before taking off. I immediately followed, quickly over passing him. I smirked back at him before using my full speed to reach the house.

Laughing, I waited a couple seconds for him to reach me. He was smiling, as he led me into the house. I was embarrassed about my lack of shirt when we arrived in the living room, with the other Cullen’s. Emmett let out a booming laugh when he saw me, and the other’s chuckled as well. 

“Carlisle, Beau caught the scent of a human.” Suddenly, everyone quieted. Before they could say anything, Edward, almost proudly, spoke again. 

“He heard me following him, and almost attacked me. But, he realized it was me, and realized it was a human he was following, and ran away.” The air was full of shock. I was confused. 

“He just ran away? He was able to fight the blood lust?” Carlisle seemed extremely curious. “Beau, most newborns kill humans without a second thought. And it takes months for that to go away.” Oh. I was supposed to kill the hiker. But I didn’t. 

“Maybe it’s a part of his gift?” Alice spoke up, and the others nodded. I cleared my throat awkwardly, crossing my arms over my bare chest. 

“Can I get a shower and some new clothes, please?” I spoke, my voice quiet. Edward smiled at me, his eyes flickering over my bare chest. 

“Of course.” He said, turning away from his family. “Follow me.”


	5. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for being slow at updating, I'm duel enrolled with high school and college, and I'm a band kid, so I'm very busy. Also this chapter sucks so :/

Edward led me down the hall and in front of a door. He held up a finger and ran off, before returning within seconds. In his hands was a neatly folded pile of clothes. I murmured my thanks, before entering the bathroom. I gently closed the door behind me and turned the lock. I know no one would barge in on me, but it was a habit. I placed the clothes on the white marble counter and took a second to gawk at the bathroom. 

It was triple the size of the bathroom I’d had to share with my dad. It was mostly the same color, which caused me to wrinkle my nose. The walls were white, so were the shower walls. The glass separating the shower was a cloudy grey, the only contrast in the room. The cabinets were white, the towels were white, the bottles of soap were white. It was unsettling. 

I stripped and place my clothes in the white hamper, before turning on the shower. Temperatures were weird now. I still turned the shower all the way up, like I always used to do. When I saw the beginnings of steam flow out, I stepped in. It was  _ hot.  _ It didn’t hurt, but it shocked me. Which was what I needed. 

I stood still as the water showered onto me, watching the blood and dirt swirl down the drain. By myself, I could think. My life was changed forever. I basically died. My heart doesn’t beat, I don’t need to breath, I don’t need to blink. I can stand forever if I wanted to. I don’t get uncomfortable. I have to drink blood to survive.  _ Blood. _

My chest felt tight, which used to be a sign of an impending anxiety attack. But without a heartbeat or breathing, I just drowned in my emotions. Grief intermingled with panic. I assumed I would never be able to see my family. Carlisle made sure they believed that I had died. They had a funeral for me. I had a gravestone. That’s when I broke down. I clasped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs that ripped their way out of my throat. 

I sank down the side of the wall, the cold marble almost soothing. I gently rocked back and forth as I cried. I knew they could hear me. I could hear them. I could hear Edward’s footsteps, pacing back and forth. Alice was chatting quietly with Jasper. I think they were playing chess. Emmett was playing a video game, and I could hear Rosalie tinkering in the garage. Carlisle was soothing Esme. She was worried about me. He wanted her to just let me have some alone time. I was grateful for that.

Moments passed and I couldn’t stop crying. Distantly, I remembered when my mom forbidding me going back to Forks over the summer. I had wanted to see dad so bad, and I had cried for hours. My mom agreed to let him see me, but in California. She hated it when I cried. 

Sudden music interrupted my thought process. Gentle music from the piano was sounding out from downstairs. It was so sweet it cut through my grief. I listened for the other Cullen’s and decided that it was Edward who was playing. The affection that flooded through me shocked me enough to pause my crying. Edward was trying to help me. 

I had never heard this music before either. Its rising and falling gentle notes soothed my soul. When the last note played, it was so sweet, I nearly cried again. This time, for a different reason. I took a deep breath, before quickly using the soap and washing myself. I shut off the water and the surrounding sounds surged in my ears again. I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to it. 

I finally looked at the clothes. A pair of plain black boxer briefs, another pair of grey sweatpants, and another t-shirt. This one a dark blue. It smelled of Edward. Driven by instinct, I brought it up to my face and nuzzled into it, inhaling the scent of him. This brought my mood up significantly. Embarrassed by my actions, I quickly got dressed, and placed the used towel on top of my soiled clothes. 

I hesitantly opened the door and made my way down to the living room. My hair was still wet. I preferred to let it air dry. It dripped onto my shoulders as I walked. My footfalls were almost silent. Quieter than the others. The wood under my feet was grooved. I could feel every line as I walked. It wasn’t unpleasant. Just odd. 

When I emerged into the living room, my eyes focused on Edward. He was still sitting at the piano. I ran the song through my mind again, calming myself. Before I could make a move, Alice bounced up to me with a gentle smile on her face. 

“I’m sorry about the borrowed clothes, Beau.” She said, hands clasped in front of her, as she swayed on the balls of her feet. “I ordered things I knew you’d like, even though I don’t agree with your fashion choice. They should be here in 3 days.” Baffled, I immediately tried to protest. But she spoke before I could. 

“You have no clothes, Beau. You can’t just collect your own clothes from your house. Charlie would notice.” I winced at the mention of my dad, fresh pain spiking in my chest. In a softer voice, she continued. 

“It’s the least we could do.” My protests died in my throat. I nodded and said a weak thank you, and she beamed at me once again. 

“Once your clothes get here, we’ll be moving. Carlisle can explain.” And she was off.

Moving? We can’t move. I can’t leave my dad. Fresh panic smothered my earlier contentment. I was just about to turn around, hunt down Alice, and demand to know what she meant by “moving”, when a hand grabbed my elbow gently. I whipped around, startled, a rumbling growl building in my chest. It died as quickly as it came, though, when I discovered that it was Edward who was touching me. 

“I’ll take you to Carlisle. Is that alright, Beau?” His asking my permission calmed down my earlier anger in seconds. I deflated, running a hand through my wet hair, before blowing out a breath. 

“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded, shoving my hands in my pockets. “That’s fine.” 

With that, Edward went upstairs, me following behind him. I could hear Esme excuse herself from Carlisle’s side, before she flitted by us. She paused long enough to lay a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeeze slightly. It made me feel somewhat better. 

We made our way down the hall to Carlisle’s office, and knocked. 

“Come in,” A soft voice said. We opened the door. 


End file.
